


The Twins Are Born!

by joinallthefandoms



Series: The Story Of How The Lonely Detective With A Skull Found Himself With A Family [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birth, Fluff, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:34:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joinallthefandoms/pseuds/joinallthefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John's (and Molly's) twins arrive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"How do you take your tea, Molly?" John called from the kitchen, pouring the scalding water into three cups. 

"Sugar and cream, please," Molly responded, wincing as one of the twins gave a particularly hard kick. She attributed their moodiness to their relation to Sherlock. John added milk to his own cup, sugar and milk to Hamish's, added the necessary ingredients to Molly's peppermint tea (recommended by the Ob-gyn) and left Sherlock's black. He brought the drinks out on a tray that was also laden with Mrs. Hudson's honey biscuits. 

"Thank you," Molly said, taking her cup gratefully. Her hands were still numb from the November chill that had pervaded London, but the tea and the cozy fire helped to comfort her as two lives stirred within her. She was due in just a week, and those seven days seemed both too soon and too far away. 

Hamish took his tea with a nod, relishing in the big boy mug that was identical to everyone else's. Sherlock took his drink without a word, his eyes glazed over but not so empty as to suggest he had fled to his Mind Palace. John had a rule about doing that when they had company; Apparently it was "rude". 

"How are you, Molly?" John asked conversationally, taking a seat in his chair. Hamish sat in the client's chair, Molly on the couch, and Sherlock in his chair.  _We really need more furniture_ , John thought. 

"I'm well," Molly responded. "Just a little nervous, I suppose." 

"Aren't we all," John chuckled. Molly gave him a smile that appeared more of a grimace as the pain in her stomach grew worse. Suddenly, her legs felt wet. She prayed that she hadn't just peed herself when she realized the liquid didn't smell of urine. Her water had just broken. 

"Are you alright?" John hurriedly asked, his doctor instincts kicking in as soon as he observed her wrapping an arm around her swelled abdomen and the liquid began to drip to the floor. At this, Sherlock perked up and looked quickly at Molly, deducing. 

"She's having a contraction, John," Sherlock exclaimed, abandoning his tea on the mantle as he stood abruptly. Panic and excitement gripped at his chest.

"What's a contraction?" Hamish curiously asked, swinging his legs back and forth as if nothing was wrong. His parents ignored him in favor of looking at Molly. 

"Are you sure?" John asked, standing with an equal amount of urgency. Molly gasped as a spike of pain took hold of her and she nodded at John, wrapping her arms around her belly. 

"Call the hospital, Sherlock," John commanded. Sherlock acquiesced immediately, whipping out his phone and quickly dialing the required numbers. As his husband dealt with that, John knelt down to face Hamish. 

"'Mish, Aunt Molly is going to be having the babies really soon so I'm going to drop you off at Uncle Mike's, okay?" John was already searching frantically for his son's shoes. Hamish set down his tea and crossed his arms stubbornly. 

"I want to come!" He exclaimed. John huffed impatiently and turned to Sherlock, who had just hung up the phone. 

"He wants to come, Sherlock," John stated, throwing up his arms and rolling his eyes. 

"So he'll come," Sherlock replied simply. Hamish uncrossed his arms and beamed. That never worked. 

"Hamish, if you can find your shoes and put on your jacket, scarf, and hat in the next two minutes you can come," John offered, already stuffing his own shoes on. Hamish nodded and set about the task. 

"Alright, Molly," Sherlock turned to her. "Is there anything you need before we go?" 

"No," she breathed. She took John's offered hand and stood up, wincing as her wet maternity trousers irritated her skin. "Maybe a pair of sweatpants?" Sherlock nodded and practically ran back to the bedroom where he fetched a pair of his own. 

"Don't look," Molly commanded as she stripped of her soaking trousers and underwear. The men obeyed and turned their backs, acknowledging for Hamish to do the same. Molly maneuvered into the pants with great difficulty, having to work around her massive stomach. 

"Ok, let's go," she said, tossing her pants into the experiment waste bin. 

"Are you ready, 'Mish?" John asked, surveying his son's haphazardly tied scarf and askew hat. 

"Yeah, Da!" Hamish happily exclaimed. He led the way down the stairs, with John behind him, Molly in third place, and Sherlock taking up the rear. Sherlock shot off a quick text to Mycroft, who responded instantly saying a cab was outside. Sherlock sat in the front and the rest sat in the back. He gave the directions to St. Bart's and they sped off. 


	2. Chapter 2

John was clutching Sherlock's hand in his own, squeezing it so tightly that Sherlock feared for the loss of his hand. If anything, he was more nervous than his husband, for the children were his own and could have any number of mental issues. But Sherlock put on a brave face and endured the numbing of his fingers and the bright lights of the delivery room and the butterflies that were rearranging his organs. He endured all that so he could witness the birth of their second and third children.

Molly's wailing sent chills up their spines and caused sympathy to burn even in Sherlock's chest as she pushed and pushed. Sherlock and John waited with bated breath, growing more anxious with every ticking second. Sherlock would later describe the event as being the longest possible labor in the entirety of the known universe. John would later roll his eyes and dilute the theatrics with a reminder of "It only took eight hours, Sherlock."

Suddenly, a baby's cries filled the room, forever searing itself into Sherlock's Mind Palace in a door he sought for comfort. His and John's eyes brimmed with tears as the first of two twins emerged, angry and screaming. Even then, the hair atop its head was an unkempt mess of raven curls. 

"It's a girl!" The nurse cried, swaddling the newborn in blankets as she rubbed some of the excess liquid off of her. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat as he gingerly took his baby girl into his arms. She was still crying, her hereditary stubbornness already making itself apparent, but those cries were the most beautiful things Sherlock had ever heard. Her eyes were a light blue tinged with gray, the spitting image of her father's. Sherlock liked to imagine that she smiled at him before he handed her over to John. 

Molly, while distracted by the momentary ease of pain and beauty of the baby girl, was by no means done. The pain began anew as the second baby began to crown. Sherlock took her by the hand as she battled through it, as she fought off the agony for him and John. The doctors urged her to push one last time, and she relinquished any residual strength she had in order to force the child out of her. Molly's pained screams resounded in the delivery room and prompted further tears from her baby, but she nevertheless fought through it, and soon a second warbling cry was heard. 

"This one's a boy!" Exclaimed the nurse, cradling the indignant baby in her arms. He too had a mess of black curls on his head, as well as light blue eyes. Sherlock stepped forward and held his son as John held his daughter. They were messy, crying, and apparently the tiniest bit underweight, but they were here. They were theirs. 

John and Sherlock reluctantly handed their children off to the nurses so they could be cleaned, weighed, and swathed in blankets to fight off the November briskness that seemed to seep into the hospital. They stumbled, flustered, into the waiting room where Hamish had fallen asleep in Mycroft's lap. The elder Holmes was typing away on his phone, but as soon as he saw his brother and his husband, he tucked the phone away in his pocket, taking care not to stir his sleeping nephew. 

"How was it?" Mycroft whispered as Sherlock and John took the seats in front of him, 

"Healthy although slightly underweight boy and girl," Sherlock pridefully said, gripping his husband's hand even now that the hard part was over. 

"Names?" Mycroft asked, totally aware and utterly repulsed that his nephew was drooling on his pant leg. 

Sherlock looked to John and shrugged. "It's your turn," he said. John's eyes glazed over for a second as he fell deep into thought. 

"Violet and Gavin?" He proposed.

"Why would you name our son after the Detective Inspector?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, I know he and Mycroft are shagging but that doesn't make him family, John."

"His name is Greg," Mycroft said defensively, nearly waking Hamish with his raised tone. Sherlock grinned. 

"Those names are lovely, then," he said, turning to John and pecking him on the lips. Hamish slowly began to wake, turning onto his back and leaving a small stain on Mycroft's trousers in his wake. 

"Da?" He asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Seeming to remember that he was in a hospital, Hamish stood up abruptly with a beaming smile on his face. "How are they?"

"They're brilliant, Hamish. A little boy and a little girl," Sherlock said, returning his son's kind smile. 

"Can I see them?" Hamish asked, sitting up entirely in his own seat. Mycroft tried to stretch his legs in a subtle manner. 

"Not yet, I'm afriad," Sherlock replied. "Not for another half hour. How about we go to the cafeteria while we wait?" He suggested, hoping to distract Hamish before he stormed into the room anyway. 

"Ok, I'm hungry," Hamish said, hopping off his chair. "Will they have cake for Uncle Mike?" Behind his nephew's back, Mycroft frowned at Sherlock as if to say "did you really train your son to use such petty insults against me?" Sherlock just grinned. 

The four of them went downstairs and shared a terrible hospital meal together. Hamish had a hot dog, John a burger, Mycroft a salad ("because I'm still dieting, Sherlock!") and Sherlock fish and chips. The food itself was horrible, but under the influence of the euphoria brought about by Violet and Gavin's birth, they were able to enjoy it. 

**...............................................**

Hamish ran into the room and practically jumped on Molly, smothering her in hugs and kisses. She was tired but they had given her medication for the residual pain and she would be able to sleep soon, so she embraced her nephew and pressed a kiss to his head. Hamish's eyes, however, had been ensnared by his baby siblings. 

Violet and Gavin lay in separate carts, swathed heavily in blankets and cute little pink and blue hats. They were to be taken to the baby room soon, but Hamish wanted to meet them up close and personal rather than through the glass. Now calm, fed, and clean, the twins were relatively easy to manage. Well, for the time being, anyway. 

Hamish reached his hand into Violet's crib/cage and squealed in delight as her eyes met his and her little fingers wrapped around his. Her blue eyes were much lighter than his own, but they also had a certain glint to them, something Hamish had always observed in his dad. Her curls were puffy like dad's, and black as night. Hamish pressed a little kiss to her hat, inhaling that new baby smell that radiated cuteness and safety and family. Then he proceeded over to Gavin, who was kind of drifting off into sleep already. He didn't meet Hamish' eye, but he did smile just a teeny bit as his brother pressed a kiss to his cheek. Hamish felt a warmth in his chest that was reserved specifically for cases with dad and bedtime stories with papa. 

Sherlock and John came in behind him, each placing a hand on their son's shoulders. They looked upon the new additions to their little family with such love and adoration that the nurses were reluctant to take the babies away. They would be staying overnight with Molly, seeing as that was protocol for underweight babies. Hamish was exhausted, as were John and Sherlock, so they took a cab home. Sherlock carried the sleeping Hamish up to his room and laid him gently on the bed, taking off his shoes, hat, and gloves. He and John both kissed him goodnight before shutting off the light and stumbling downstairs. 

John kissed Sherlock lightly, too tired to do much else than kiss. Sherlock took of his jacket and John did the same. They fell into bed in their underwear, too tired to even mumble "I love you."

Perhaps it was because they didn't need to. 


	3. Chapter 3

"John?" Sherlock murmured, absentmindedly stroking his husband's sandy hair. It was days like these, where they had just come off of the high of solving a case and settled back into their (ab)normal domestic lives for a little while, that Sherlock loved the most. Hamish was at school, the twins were asleep (which was a miracle in and of itself), and he and John were just enjoying the solitude of their bedroom. It was opportunities like these that they automatically jumped on top of each other and fucked as loudly as they dared, but today was... different. There wasn't that same urgency to get it done before Hamish came home or one of the twins woke. It was just peaceful and serene, like a dull wave of sluggishness and content had washed over them and erased all the stress that accumulated in their faced-paced days. 

"Hm?" John hummed, stirred from his stupor by the velvety voice of his husband. He turned to look at Sherlock, once again falling into a daze as he fell deep into the rich sapphire irises that gleamed so brightly and so animatedly. 

"We're going to be needing a bigger flat soon," Sherlock bluntly stated. John flicked his eyes from Sherlock's simply to forgo the distractions they caused. 

"But this is our home," John whimpered, sounding much like their petulant seven-year-old when he demanded that his experiment be allowed to run past bedtime. 

"And it was well suited to our needs when it was just you and me," Sherlock argued, sitting up slightly. "But now we have a seven year old and two one-year olds. We have an obligation to them, to let them grow up in a flat big enough to accommodate them."

"How will we be able to afford an entirely new flat?" John asked, suddenly fussing over the logistics in an effort to put Sherlock off the idea. "We have to stay in London, or else Hamish will have to switch schools and-"

"I have a trust fund of several million as well as a large inheritance," Sherlock cut him off. "And, if you're so worried about location, then I can phone Mycroft and he'll have something arranged."

John pouted and stuck his lower lip out, looking for all the world like a grown-up version of Hamish. "But who will look after Mrs. Hudson?"

"Mrs. Hudson."

"She's an old woman, Sherlock! People have and will continue to come after her to get to you," John argued, not daring to raise his voice more than its normal tone. The twins had a sleeping schedule as erratic as their father's, and therefore every single moment that they were asleep was practically a Godsend.

"She is more than capable of taking care of herself," Sherlock countered. "She had been doing so long before we moved in." 

John's eyebrows furrowed, a sign that he took that as a valid point. Sherlock suppressed a grin. 

"I'm not going to be the one to tell Hamish," he pouted. "And he and I have to approve of the place before we even consider it."

"Agreed," Sherlock acquiesced. "Now let's have sex."

"You're so blunt," John chuckled at the sudden change of topic.

"You wouldn't have it any other way."

**.................................................................................................................................**

"Papa! I got a hundred on my maths quiz!" Hamish exclaimed excitedly, waving the paper around as proof. He came to John first because he had learned from a very early age that he needed more than just a high grade to impress Dad. But he liked it that way. It gave him passion and drive. 

"That's amazing, 'Mish!" John replied, ruffling his son's hair affectionately. "You're getting smarter every day." Hamish beamed as he took John by the hand and they crossed the street. 

"Where's Da?" Hamish asked, being extra super careful to look both ways, even though John was holding his hand. 

"He's in his Mind Palace," John explained. Hamish nodded in understanding. The Mind Palace was something he was intimately familiar with, as Daddy had been teaching him how to construct his own. Except he wasn't supposed to tell Papa that. 

They walked along in silence, the brisk January air causing their breaths to come out as clouds of smoke. Hamish used to pretend that he was smoking, but that made Daddy very cross, so he stopped. 

"'Mish?" John asked, nudging his son's shoulder to shake him from his deep thought. 

"Yeah, Pa?" Hamish responded, glaring up at the sun that was doing very little to warm him up. 

"What do you think about moving to a new flat?" John ventured, knowing well enough by now that it was no good to beat around the bush with Hamish. 

"Why?" Hamish asked.

"Because we need more room because of the new babies," John explained. Hamish's face turned dark and he sped up a little bit. 

"No!" He said petulantly, crossing his arms. John frowned, unsure of what to do. Hamish was rarely cross for no reason. 

"Why not?" 

"I just don't wanna," Hamish said in lieu of an actual explanation. 

"Hamish," John called, stopping his son in his tracks. He so rarely used his full name (Hamish had deduced he held the tiniest bit of animosity toward the name "Hamish") that Hamish was shocked to hear it out of his Pa's mouth. 

"Son, you have to tell me why you don't want us to move out of the flat," John said, bending down on one knee so he was level with Hamish. Hamish's eyes welled up with tears. 

"Everything was fine before the twins came!" He exclaimed, throwing up his little hands in frustration. "You, me and Daddy were fine. Now we need a bigger flat and I can't do experiments when they're sleeping and you and Daddy spend all your time with them." Hamish paused for a moment to wipe his nose on his jacket sleeve/ "It's not fair!"

John felt a twinge of guilt in his chest. He didn't realize that they'd been neglecting Hamish. "'Mish, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that things have changed, but Violet and Gavin are just babies and they require more of our attention." He reached out a hand to wipe the tears from his son's cheek, but Hamish dodged his hand. 

"Yeah, well, I hate them!" He yelled. He ran up the block to the flat, leaving John stunned on the street. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a talk with Hamish about the twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update, folks.

Hamish stormed up the stairs, tears streaming down his wind-reddened cheeks. He didn't even stop into the living room to greet his father, he was so angry. Sherlock was shaken from his stupor by the sound of a slamming door and muffled crying. Alarmed, he sat up from his chair and started up the stairs after his son, only to be stopped by the sound of the front door opening and closing. John came running up the stairs a second later, visibly angry. 

"He doesn't want to move because he feels excluded by the twins," Sherlock deduced, eyeing John's teary eyes. John just nodded, more than happy to leave the task of placating Hamish to Sherlock. He was accustomed to having to deal with theatrics on his son's part, but none so dramatic nor as startling as these. John had no idea that Hamish felt so excluded, and the fact that he hadn't noticed made him feel like a negligent father. And a father who didn't pay attention to his kids was something he never wanted to be. 

"Hamish?" Sherlock whispered, knocking lightly on his son's door. He received no reply, but chose to enter anyway. 

"Go away!" Hamish exclaimed, his voice muffled by the pillow he was crying into. Sherlock closed the door lightly and took tentative steps toward his son, who had, in his anger, thrown his boots across the room. Sherlock sat poised on the edge of Hamish's bed, and began rubbing slow circles into his back. He felt Hamish's body tremble as he was wracked with sobs, but his son made no move to push his father off him. Sherlock, after years of observing John, kept rubbing calming patterns into Hamish's back until he felt the boy's body calm down. The tears finally subsided five minutes later and Hamish sat up, tears streaking his face. Sherlock wrapped an arm around him as Mycroft used to do to him and brought Hamish against his body, cocooning him in warmth and comfort. 

"I don't hate them, Da," Hamish cried, his voice trembling as his tiny fists clutched at Sherlock's jacket. Sherlock paid the expensive fabric no mind as Hamish discreetly wiped his nose on his dad's shirt. 

"I know you don't, 'Mish," Sherlock cooed, his deep voice immediately registering safety and warmth in Hamish's brain. 

"You know, Hamish," Sherlock said. "Uncle Mycroft did this very same thing when I was born."

Hamish looked up with a ghost of a grin on his face. "Of course he did."

At this, Sherlock chuckled. "Really. He was seven and I was just a few weeks old and he told me I was an idiot." Hamish giggled slightly. 

"Hamish," Sherlock said. "I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're feeling, although I have a pretty good idea. You feel excluded and alone because Papa and I have been paying more attention to Violet and Gavin than you."

"Yeah," Hamish agreed, his voice small. 

"But, 'Mish, what you need to understand is that Papa and I love you more than anything in the world. We love Violet and Gavin too, just as much. They're babies, and for a few years they're going to need our help. That doesn't mean that Papa and I love you any less, just that we cannot deviate our attention from the twins. We want them to know that they are as loved as you are." Hamish nodded.

"When they're older, they're going to look up to you like I looked up to Mycroft," Sherlock whispered, as though this were some big secret. 

Hamish giggled. "You didn't look up to Uncle Mycroft, Dada. Stop lying."

Sherlock chuckled a bit and shook his head. "I'm going to deny ever having said this, but when I was a kid, your uncle seemed like the smartest man in the world. I wanted nothing more than to be him. That's why he taught me deductions like I teach you. There was a time when I was like Violet and Gavin, and I was just a baby that needed to be looked after. Mycroft thought he hated me because I was so useless, but then I grew up and we were best friends. It'll be like that with you, Vi, and Gav. I promise. Just give them a little time."

Hamish nodded and wrapped his dad in a big hug. Sherlock smiled a bit as he rested his chin on Hamish's head of close-cropped blond hair. 

*******************************************************************

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Pa," Hamish sheepishly said, looking up at John with wide eyes. John picked him up (that was getting a little too hard) and pressed a sloppy kiss to Hamish's cheek. 

"Ew!" Hamish squealed, rubbing at the offensive mark with his sleeve. John and Sherlock laughed as they brought Hamish to the couch where Chinese takeout awaited them. They were just about to settle down to a family meal when Sherlock's phone began to vibrate. Sherlock stood up and drew it from his pocket, frowning at the Caller ID.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" He bitterly said. 

"That was very sentimental, Sherlock," Mycroft teased. "I never knew you loved me so much."

Sherlock covered the receiver of the phone with his hands. "Hamish, cover your ears," he commanded. 

Hamish grinned as John placed his hands over his ears. He watched as his father animatedly began yelling into the phone and he caught a few of the words. They subsequently went into his Mind Palace for later use. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, John, and Hamish go around looking for a new flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super late update. Please just assume that updates will be every week or 2 weeks, depending.   
> As always, comments and kudos are not mandatory but they're kinda mandatory

"Hidden asbestos problem," Sherlock deduced, barely needing to glance at the ceiling."

"Guess it's on to the next one, then," John muttered, trying to keep out of the real estate lady's earshot. 

"Hamish!" Sherlock called. "It's time to go!" Right on cue, their son came bounding down the stairs, a look of disgust on his face. He walked to John and Sherlock, looking up at the ceiling as he went. 

"They've got asbestos they're trying to hide," he revealed, pointing at the ceiling. Sherlock grinned as John chuckled. 

"I don't think this is the place, 'Mish," John said. "How about you?" Hamish made a face and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," John said to the woman showing them around. "But I think we're going to have to see a few more."

The lady, dressed sharply in a dark pants suit, gave John a very forced smile. "Of course," she said, her voice dripping with annoyance. 

She led them out of the flat, down the stairs, and back onto the street where Sherlock hailed them a cab. The woman sat in front, clearly wishing to distance herself from the noisy family. 

"I'm gonna get my own room, right, Da?" Hamish asked. 

"We've been over this, Hamish," Sherlock answered. 

"A thousand times," John muttered.

"You're going to have your own room," Sherlock finished, shooting John an affectionate glance. The comment went unheard by Hamish, who was bubbling with the excitement of having an entire room all to himself, despite the fact that he had his own room in the old flat. 

They drove along in an amicable silence, broken by the occasional deduction of someone on the street. Sherlock and John sat across from their son, conversing in silent glances. This would be the fifth flat just that day, making it the eleventh in total. It seemed that no place would be as good as 221B. 

They finally pulled up to the woman's new address, with Sherlock paying yet another cab fee. They'd have to start taking the tube again, at the rate he was spending. They hadn't been since Hamish got lost for over an hour because he decided to wander off and investigate a discarded scarf. 

"4 bedroom, 2 bathroom, wood burning fireplace. Decently priced, all things considered," the real estate woman read from her notebook in a monotone voice. 

"Why don't you go check out the upstairs, 'Mish?" John asked, urging his son toward the stairs with a slight push. Hamish nodded eagerly and bounded up the stairs, leaving John and Sherlock alone to check out the first floor. 

The living room was the first room to be entered, just as in 221B. It was completely unfurnished, almost entirely bare with the exception of the fireplace. The floors were polished, sleek hardwood, light browny-yellow in color. The wall on the right of the doorway held two large windows that allowed a generous amount of light into the room. It was bigger than the living room in the old flat, but by very slim margins. It was, however, open and airy and John was immediately drawn to it. 

They wandered into the adjacent dining room, which was separated from the sitting room by an archway rather than a door.  _I'm going to have doors put in there. Not going to be hearing Sherlock doing his experiments while I'm reading the paper._ The kitchen was furnished with just black marble countertops, but was nevertheless spacious. John and Sherlock felt an attraction to the flat already. 

From there they went upstairs, which was just a single corridor with three doors on each side and another door all the way at the end of the hall. The first door led to the master bedroom, which was much larger than Sherlock's bedroom back in the old flat. Two large windows illuminated the room with sunlight. There was a door inside the bedroom that led to the en-suite bathroom, complete already with a bathtub, two sinks, and a shower. 

In the next bedroom they met Hamish, who had fallen into his own Mind Palace. Sherlock and John knew better than to disturb him when he was finally silent and calm, so they left that room. The next two bedrooms were smaller but nevertheless spacious. The bathroom was the same. At the very end of the hall there was a linens closet, which was completely bare. 

John and Sherlock had a hushed conversation in one of the bedrooms.

"What d'you think?" John asked, a small grin on his face. Sherlock's eyes said it all. 

"I like it," he said. 

"Me too," John replied. 

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked. 

"Let's ask Hamish first, but I think we should get it either way." Sherlock nodded and they returned to Hamish's room, where the boy was still lost in thought. 

"Hamish," Sherlock called. Everyone with a Mind Palace has a way to come out of it, a certain sound that can pull them out of their stupor. For Sherlock, it was John's voice. For Hamish, it was his Dad's deep cadence. 

Hamish shook himself slightly and looked up at his parents, a wide grin spreading on his face. 

"What were you thinking about, squirt?" John asked, reaching a hand down to ruffle his son's hair. 

"Where I'm gonna put my bed in relation to the windows and my dresser and where I'm gonna put my toys-" Hamish excitedly chattered. 

"Whoa, whoa," John cut Hamish off. "So, you want to live here?"

"Well, duh, Papa," Hamish said, forever astounded by his Papa's ability to be so smart and at the same time, so very thick. 

"Let's go buy it, then," Sherlock decided. He took Hamish by the hand and allowed his son to lead him down the stairs one at a time. John followed not far behind, a warm sense of contentment in his heart. 

 

 


End file.
